


Not Quite Legend

by Gloomier



Series: Legend-verse [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No One Ring, Alternate Universe - No Smaug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Hobbit Culture, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sassy Bilbo Baggins, ridiculous hobbit courting headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 03:19:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5190119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gloomier/pseuds/Gloomier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hobbits are merely legend and Gandalf is all too willing to introduce the Dwarves of Erebor to a Hobbit. </p>
<p>Now with additional chapters!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> [Prompt](http://instantbanana.tumblr.com/post/132703840238/bagginshield-promts) by [Instantbanana ](http://instantbanana.tumblr.com/).

“What's a Hobbit?” Kíli asked one evening over supper.

“They're fat little men that hide under your bed, Kee.” Fíli supplied in between mouthfuls of his mince pie. Frerin did his best to stifle his laughter, ending up on the business end of Dís' diamond encrusted slipper.

Kíli's eyes grew wide in alarm. “Nuh-uh! Uncle Frerin checks under my bed every night, Fee!”

“That's right. Uncle Frerin would never let a Hobbit hide under your bed Kíli.” Frerin nods seriously as he rubs his abused shin. 

“I'm surrounded by idiots.” Thorin grouses while ignoring Dís' glare.

“A Hobbit is a sprite of Mahal's wife, Yavanna – a child of the verdant garden.” Balin intercedes. “They are said to be gentle beings, the tenders of all growing things on Arda. It's long since been told throughout our history that Hobbits bless the lands around our mountains, for we are hewn from stone and skilled with metal, we lack the appreciation and the expertise for growing things. It's more of an old legend anyway I'm afraid, no Dwarf has ever laid eyes upon a Hobbit.”

A fit of coughing over takes Gandalf, nearly causing him to choke on his wine in the process. The thought of Hobbits hiding under the beds of children like fairytale monsters was quite scandalous. Truly the myths of Dwarves never cease to bring him great amusement.

“Is that really true? I don't like green things.” Kíli whines, scrunching up his face in disgust.

“Of course it's not true. Don't be stupid, Kee.”

Fortunately, Gandalf knew of a few good Hobbits and he was more than willing to turn the little Dwarven history lesson upside down if it meant even more amusement. It would take a bit of convincing, but he was certain a holiday could be arranged for one special Hobbit.

The next morning Gandalf departs with a promise to return to Erebor next summer.

*

Hobbits are secretive about their existence. They prefer to live in seclusion from the other races of Arda, in a sanctuary protected by the Green Lady herself. They do not maintain any sort of contact outside their Shire and no Hobbit ever dared set a furry foot outside of it. 

Hobbit parents tell their little Hobbit children of the terrible things that happen to curious little fauntlings who try and sneak outside the boundaries; tales of the big folk who wouldn't second guess gobbling them up for supper. 

Belladona Took never believed in those superstitious tales. She dreamed of wide open plains and jagged mountains, deep forests and endlessly stretching seas. Those dreams never faded, even when she was courted by and eventually married to an overly respectable Baggins. Bungo never held those fantasies in the same regard his wife did, but he admired her for having them and he certainly never forbade her from sharing them with their inquisitive Bilbo. 

Bungo firmly believed that he would fade away long before ever bearing witness to the day a Hobbit became brazen enough to leave the Shire – until the day Gandalf showed up.

“You want to take our son _where_?” Bungo said incredulously, harshly setting his teacup onto the table.

“I would like to take your son on an adventure – to Erebor.” Gandalf repeated.

Bella remained silent, but the beginnings of a smirk we're pulling at the corners of her mouth as her husband interrogated Gandalf further on his intentions for their son.

“And where is this... _Erebor_ , may I ask?”

“Erebor is far off to the east, over the Misty Mountains and across the Greenwood, dug deep in the Lonely Mountain.” Gandalf explained as he casually sipped at his tea.

“You don't truly mean to take our son out of the Shire, surely, such an idea is preposterous! No, not respectable at all...” 

“Oh, but it isn't ridiculous my friend and I'm quite sure that Bilbo would enjoy it.” Gandalf said, leveling Bungo with a stern look. “He's of age now, is he not?”

Bungo shot up from his chair, face red with indignation. “I'll not allow my only son to travel across the bloody world on some fool adventure –” He said, jabbing an angry finger in the direction of Gandalf.

“Bungo Baggins watch your temper!” Bella scolded. “Now then – if Bilbo would like to go with Gandalf then that is his choice to make, and Gandalf is right to say so. Our son is old enough now to make his own decisions I should think.” 

Belladonna never took the opportunity to go out gallivanting in the world, but Gandalf kept her wild imagination well fed with awe-inspiring stories and various gifts from outside of the Shire. She would do everything within her rights as a mother to give Bilbo something she never had herself, even if that meant standing against her husband.

“B-But, Bella! No Hobbit has ever left the Shire boundaries, what will our neighbors think? What about the tales?” Bungo pleaded.

“Sod the neighbors and the tales. You know very well that those silly stories are nothing but balderdash. If you think our respectability is worth more than our son, then you are sorely mistaken, _mister_.” She growled and every single word promised swift retribution if Bungo dared to comment further.

Bungo sighed in resignation as he lowered himself gently back into his chair. He knew that he'd been beat, and it certainly didn't sit well with him at all, but it would be in his best interest if he did not continue the line of argument further. He gently rubbed forehead and let his shoulders sag in defeat.

Bilbo is eager to travel despite the reservations Bungo has about the whole ordeal, and after a month of preparation Gandalf and Bilbo leave for Erebor.

*

Through their journey Bilbo has learned so much of the world outside the Shire.

He discovers that tall folk like Gandalf don't actually have a penchant to gobble up Hobbits, and while tales of Elves make them out to be ethereal, they are quite grounded for such long lived peoples. He's also learned that the Elves of the Greenwood are far more snooty and aren't as cordial to visitors (or perhaps it was just Gandalf they did not like) in comparison to the Elves that reside in Rivendell. 

“We're almost through the forest and soon we'll be in Esgaroth.” Gandalf commented to Bilbo as he guided them towards the edge of the forest.

“I thought we were going to Erebor?” 

“Oh, we are my friend, but I've sent word ahead to the mountain and we shall be escorted the rest of the way by a party of Dwarves. We'll be meeting them just outside the Greenwood.”

He had seen plenty of Men and Elves, but Dwarves – Bilbo had seen very few of them and even those they did spot were at a considerable distance away. The Wizard shared very little about the stout people, but it's not enough to sate Bilbo's curiosity and his excitement grew and grew, even now he's vibrating with an overabundance of anticipation. 

“What are they like? You've told me very little, and I'd very much like to know what to expect.” 

“There will be plenty of time to learn all about them I assure you, but it's best not to overwhelm them right away. Dwarves are more secretive than you Hobbits I dare say, and they're unlikely to answer anything you have a question about.” Gandalf evaded.

“And do they answer a question with both yes and no?” Bilbo snorted, remembering how the Elves took to his grilling of them.

Gandalf didn't say anything more on the matter and soon the trees began to thin and the spacing between them expanded as they neared the tree line. Bilbo could even make out the shimmering mirror of water in the distance, the lake Gandalf was telling him about during their stay within Thranduil's halls.

“Ah, here we are! It looks like our friends haven't made it yet, though I'm sure they won't be too long.” Gandalf said as he moved to sit upon a hollowed out log just off their path, digging his pipe out from the folds of his robe. 

Bilbo followed suit, shrugging off his overstuffed pack and leaning it against the fallen log as he sat down beside the Wizard. They remained like that for a long while, Gandalf puffing smoke rings into the air and Bilbo silently polishing off the strawberry tarts he'd nabbed from the kitchen of their Elven hosts just this morning. Off in the distance a blob of moving outlines slowly made their approach, causing Bilbo's waning anticipation to flare up again as the party began to draw nearer.

“And there they are, right on time.” Gandalf murmured to himself, puffing out another smoke ring.

In the time it took for the entourage to arrive Bilbo felt that he now understood what it felt like for Elves to live through entire lifetimes, the time they spent waiting was comparable to an eternity. Eventually the company of armored and scowling envoys and guards stood before them.

Gandalf was looking entirely too happy about this meeting, and Bilbo swore he saw smugness twinkling in those mischievous eyes of his. He dragged his own eyes from the Wizard and back to the new arrivals, there were ten of them in total... twelve he recounted as two small children stepped out from behind one of the Dwarves standing at the head of the group. The shorter of the two, one with messy dark hair and wide chocolate eyes stared back at him intently – as if he were an oddity to be studied. 

“Who are you?” The dark haired child asked.

“I am Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.” Bilbo replied as he bent forward in a polite bow. “And you are?”

Before Kíli could answer, the golden haired child, and the tallest of the two, narrowed his eyes and shuffled a little closer for a more discerning look. “ _What are you_?” He said rudely.

The child's eyes carefully inspected Bilbo, from the bronze curls on the top of his head down to his thick furred and very respectable Hobbit feet where his gaze lingered until an older Dwarf swatted him on the back of the head. “Hey!” The child squealed.

“Bilbo, may I present to you his majesty Crown Prince Thorin, Son of Thráin, Son of Thrór – as well as his brother Prince Frerin and their two nephews, Princes Fíli and Kíli.” Gandalf said, motioning to each Dwarf as he spoke their names. “And this my friends is Bilbo Baggins, a Hobbit of the Shire.”

The formal introduction of Bilbo caused the group of Dwarves to murmur between each other in a language that the Hobbit couldn't recognize nor understand. He felt uncomfortable under the curious and seemingly flabbergasted expressions, something that irked Bilbo until he remembered that no one outside of the Shire and Gandalf, and now his more recent acquaintances, would know about Hobbits. He didn't like the way that _Prince Thorin_ was staring at him, like he was some aberration that needed exterminating; he looked a bit... constipated. 

“Is this some sort of hoax, Wizard?” Thorin growled accusingly, shooting said Wizard an icy look.

Gandalf sputtered, taken back by the Prince's reaction. “It certainly is _not_ a hoax. The conversation we had over supper last winter inspired me to introduce you to a real Hobbit.”

“This must be some trick of the forest then. Thranduil put you up to this didn't he? Or that ridiculous son of his perhaps.” Thorin said venomously.

“Now see here!” Bilbo exclaimed. “To think that this– that I am some sort of trick played upon you by a forest, t-the nerve!” 

Thorin's angry stare slid back to Bilbo then, looking more livid now than he had been while snarling at the Wizard. “Hobbits don't exist, and they certainly don't look like _you_.” The Prince said derisively, glaring down at Bilbo's feet like the golden haired child had only a handful of moments ago. 

“How would you know what a Hobbit looks like if you've never seen one?” Bilbo challenged, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting his chin in defiance.

“Your feet are too big and awfully hairy, they are not written to be so in our history books.” Thorin says harshly in turn causing Bilbo to puff up with anger. 

“I'll have you know that my feet perfectly Hobbitish. Though I can't say much for yours, they look rather dainty and are more than likely bare under those ugly boots you wear. Far too small and not at all decent.” He sniffed haughtily.

“ _What did you say_?” Thorin hissed through clenched teeth.

“Dainty feet and hard of hearing too?” Bilbo said with a smirk, rolling his eyes for good measure. “My my, I heard Dwarves were suppose to have great thick beards. Yours is rather scraggly.” 

His insult sent the entire group into an angry fit of shouting and snarling. Prince Frerin was doing his best to hold back a tall and bulky Dwarf sporting a mohawk while hiding his own amusement.

“You dare –”

“Enough!” Gandalf shouted, soundly interrupting Thorin. “Bilbo Baggins, your mother taught you better than that! And don't you start again Thorin,” He said as he wagged a disapproving finger at the Prince. “Your father would be very displeased in the way you are handling your diplomatic duty to Erebor.”

Thorin wasn't nearly finished with the argument, he refused to let that Shire rat have the last word, but Gandalf thoroughly quashed anymore attempts at rebuttal.

After a while, when they have all finally set out on the return trip to the mountain, Thorin matches his pace with Bilbo's and leers at the snotty little creature. 

“If you think this is over _Hobbit_ , you are sorely mistaken.”

“You're rather presumptuous for someone with such tiny feet and a woefully unkempt beard.”

“I hate you.”

“At least we agree on something.”


	2. Apologies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt that it was unfair that I left those two idiots in limbo together (doing god knows what). So I've decided to add a little more to this world and I will bring said idiots together, and you'll find that you can't take them anywhere without them getting into trouble.
> 
> Many thanks to the fabulous [Airebellah](http://airebellah.tumblr.com/) for the beta work done on this chapter and putting up with me.
> 
> [You can find me right here.](http://tea-blitz.tumblr.com/)

“Well, what do we have here?”

“Go away Frerin,” Thorin called out over the hammering of heated steel.

“Aw, don't be that way Thorin,” Frerin teased. “What did Bilbo do this time?” he asked, leaning against the work bench that sat across from his brother's anvil.

“Why do you assume that the _Hobbit_ is the cause for whatever it is you think is wrong with me?”

Frerin was right in assuming that the Hobbit had something to do with Thorin’s temper as of late. He was still bitter that the Wizard had sprung a Hobbit on Erebor without proper notification. Dís went as far to say that even if he had been properly warned, he still would have ended up insulting the creature anyhow. If it were anyone's fault he had ended up in this position with the Hobbit, it was Tharkûn's.

“You only pout like this when you and him go a few rounds, or if you piss Dís off. And I'd know if you pissed her off, so that just leaves Bilbo,” Frerin said, a smug grin curled in his beard.

“He's as stubborn as a mule,” Thorin muttered, his voice almost inaudible over his hammering, trying to drown out the memories of that snarky little rat commenting about his weight – his thinness.

“Those who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones,” Frerin remarked.

“I will not stand here and be scolded by my troublesome younger brother,” Thorin growled, stalking over to the work bench. “I have more important things to do than listen to you lament about how I've treated that uncouth beast,” he added, placing his smithing hammer on the work bench in favor of picking up a rag to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“You probably wouldn't hate him as much if you actually sat down and had a real conversation with him,” Frerin said seriously, giving Thorin a reproachful look.

Another point.

The Hobbit managed to worm his way in the hearts of many Dwarves; it irritated Thorin beyond belief and he always mentioned as such whenever there was a chance – the amount of vitriol he had bubbling in his veins for the _halfing_ (the insult he's taken to using as of late) prevented him from being anything but painfully cordial. Of course when they found themselves alone, all pretenses of niceties were washed away by the aggressive flow of their unstable relationship.

There was simply no room for any sort of conversation between them.

“I would probably hate him less if he showed me the respect that my station deserves.”

“He would probably hate you less if you hadn't felt the need to insult him during our first meeting,” Frerin rebuked. “I still don't understand what prompted you to assume he wasn't real.”

“That forest is enchanted, I'm confident that you thought the same,” Thorin said lamely, tossing his sweat dampened rag at Frerin's head.

“I wasn't stupid enough to say it out loud though!” Frerin snorted, easily deflecting the projectile.“I highly doubt Tharkûn could conjure a Hobbit from thin air, and the chance of an Elf conjuring one is _impossible_. I'm sure I don't have to tell you how improbable it is for a forest to birth one.”

“We are done speaking of this, Frerin, leave it be,” Thorin said with finality, leaving behind Frerin and his painful truths.

Thorin paid no attention to where he was going as he stomped down the corridor. Frerin had stirred up his mood, which was nothing new, but the entire purpose of spending the morning in the forge was to avoid everything. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on the subject too; it bothered him far more that people actually had the gall to try and convince him that the Hobbit wasn't all that bad - get him to like the soft creature even! But Thorin knew better: that Hobbit was an absolute menace sent here by Mahal to torment him.

Still far too lost in thought, Thorin was paying little mind as he turned a corner.

“Oh! Forgive me I – it's...” Bilbo sputtered apologetically until his eyes locked on to the Dwarven meatwall he had just collided with. “It's _you_ ,” he spat.

“ _Hafling_ ,” Thorin sneered, refusing to offer a hand to assist the menace as he loomed ominously overhead.

“You might watch where you're walking, _your Majesty_ , it's very rude to go romping into others,” Bilbo said coldly as he picked himself up and straightened his clothes, ignoring the foul moniker as he did.

“I am a Prince and I will do as I like. Perhaps if you open up those beady eyes of yours, you wouldn't have run into me.”

“Your head must be full of rocks if you think that is acceptable behavior. I first assumed that being a pompous buffoon was merely bad breeding, however, after thorough observation I find that it is just you. Maybe there's still time to teach an old dog new tricks.”

It was low of him to drag the Prince's family into this; they hadn't shown him such excessive ire as the Prince sought to do at every turn. Were Bilbo’s parents here, they would be awfully disappointed in him. Remembering all the times he got a good ear twisting for his misdeeds made his ears twitch.

“Bad breeding?! You barefaced imp –”

“You are unnecessarily rude, especially for a Prince, and it's very unbecoming,” Bilbo tutted. “I would have you apologize to me.”

“I would sooner apologize to the Master of Laketown, you pretentious ass.”

Sadly when it came to the Prince, Bilbo couldn't control his displeasure.

“I've never met someone so arrogant in all my life. If anyone in this mountain is the pretentious ass, it's you!” he snarled, sharply jabbing Thorin in the chest with his finger. “I dare say your brother would have been a much better choice as Crown Prince; it's such a shame your father chose you.”

It took every part of Thorin that still remained rational – which wasn't very much – not to lunge forward and wrap his hands around that soft Hobbit neck.

“I ought to string you up for your insolent tongue and shear the hair off your disgustingly big feet while I'm at it!” Thorin bellowed without restraint.

For a split second there was a glint of hurt in the Hobbit's eyes, but it was gone as quick as it came and any thoughts Thorin might have had about it were forgotten when the menace lifted his chin defiantly.

Mahal how he despised that.

“One of these days you may find that your nasty beard has been shorn off!”

“And I'll see you lose your fingers for such an offense!”

Before Thorin could add anything more Bilbo was pushing past him, forcefully ending their argument.

Thorin felt that he should be proud that he had gotten the last word, but it didn't feel like a victory. Instead he felt a twinge of regret slip under his anger like a splinter.

Maybe they had gone too far this time–

Cutting off such a traitorous notion, he wielded his steely gaze towards the audience gathered in the corridor, sending them all on their way before stalking off in the opposite direction towards the council chambers.

Thorin violently shoved all thoughts of the mountain's resident Hobbit out of his mind.

*

Bilbo was quick to escape to the library after ditching Thorin. It had become something of a sanctuary for him within the mountain, ever since his arrival at Erebor just over a month ago. His hosts have been very good to him – nearly to a fault, but sometimes he just needed to get away from it all. He needed a place to escape the infuriating Prince Thorin. Living amongst Dwarves was a very harrowing experience indeed, but he could have never guessed the full extent of that truth.

He sat alone in the furthest corner of the massive library – out of direct line of sight of the entrance and most of, if not all, the library staff. Bilbo tried to remain engrossed in a thick tome that recounted the long history of the Dúnedain, but his mind kept wandering back to Thorin and their latest argument.

Thorin most certainly deserved to be brought down a peg or two. Bilbo didn't appreciate the surly Dwarf insulting his feet quite so often, as Hobbits took great pride in their feet, after all. It was very petty of him to believe (Sackville-Baggins petty, even), but the Prince deserved every verbal lashing given to him. Sod the cultural devastation.

“Psst, Bilbo–o.” Someone whispered from behind a tall stack of books nearby, catching his attention and interrupting his sulking.

He knew to whom that voice belonged, choosing to ignore it and hold out for as long as possible. Something he had yet to be successful in doing.

“Bilbo,” Kíli whispered again, this time peeking out from behind the book stack.

“What do you want, Kíli?” the Hobbit sighed. “And why are you sneaking around?”

“Fíli and I aren't allowed in the library without a grownup,” the dwarfling said indifferently, as though this was a common situation. He slipped out from behind the book stack and climbed into the chair next to Bilbo, craning his neck to inspect the open book. “Whatcha doing?”

“I was reading, _and now_ I'm talking to a troublemaker.” Bilbo smirked.

“I'm not a trouble maker,” Kíli pouted.

Bilbo silently disagreed with the child. “Did you need something?”

“Well... Fíli and I are bored and we were wondering if you wanna come with us to the mines. You've been here forever,” Kíli exaggerated, “And you haven't gone to see them yet! They're _really_ pretty.”

“I-I'm not sure that's a very safe idea, Kíli. The mines a dangerous place to be, are they not? Hobbit's aren't made for such places.”

“Not for a Dwarf!” Kíli chirped proudly. “Fíli and I will keep you safe, we promise” He nodded seriously.

Bilbo wanted to tell the dwarfling no, but he looked so damned happy – Bilbo couldn't deny Kíli anything, even if he tried.

“I'll only go if we can stop by the kitchens on the way,” Bilbo negotiated. He really shouldn't have skipped second breakfast.

Kíli squealed excitedly and hopped out of his chair, pulling Bilbo up as he led them both towards the library's exit.

*

“Your Majesties!” a Dwarf yelled, barging into the council chambers.

“What is the meaning of this?” Thráin growled, pushing himself up off his throne.

“There's been a collapse in one of the older sapphire tunnels,” the messenger wheezed. “The Princes... Someone saw them head towards that tunnel before the collapse.”

Thorin was already gone at the mention of Fíli and Kíli, not waiting for his father to start barking orders. While he made his hasty escape he wasn't quite out of ear shot when the out of breath guard added, “Master Baggins was also seen accompanying them.”

A chunk of ice plummeted into his gut. He and the Hobbit maintained a strained acquaintance, in fact Thorin even considered the fussy little thing to be his greatest nemesis, but he would never wish harm upon him. Fíli and Kíli knew better – or he assumed they did – not even they deserved to experience a cave-in firsthand.

Upon his arrival to the scene of the accident a throng of miners, guards, and onlookers crowded around the tunnel's opening. There were various debates as Thorin pushed through the mob, trying to hear over the loudness that engulfed him. He had finally made it through to the inner circle where the foreman stood when Dís came barreling in.

“Where are they! Where are my sons?!” Dís bellowed and the crowd quickly parted for her. If it were not such a dire situation he would have found it amusing.

Her face was beet red with tears threatening to spill onto her face, and her voice was rough and full of fury. The foreman paled before Dís, the ire of a mother turning him into a stuttering mess.

“T-They're still in the tunnel, your Highness. The blasting we'd been d-doing this afternoon unsettled the structural integrity –“”

“I don't care about the damned structural integrity!” she roared, making the foreman shuffle backward nervously throwing his hands out in a placating manner.

“W-We h-ha-haven't began moving the debris, my Lady. We want to make sure that we don't cause another collapse as we excavate.”

Dís looked ready to throttle the foreman and before she could inflict physical harm on the poor Dwarf, Thorin cut her off. “We need to get in there now, unless you wish to get the King involved,” he said, shedding his outer coat and rolling up the sleeves of his tunic.

“Yes, my Prince.”

*

Bilbo coughed into the crook of his elbow, his eyes straining against the blackness of their prison. His heart hammered painfully in his chest, the sound of blood rushing through his ears like a river so overpowering, it took a few moments before he could  clearly hear the quiet sobbing of Fíli or Kíli next to him.

“Fíli – Kíli,” he croaked, blindly groping around to find the source of the crying, “Are you two alright?”

“I'm ok,” Fíli sniffled as he latched onto one of Bilbo's questing arms.

Everything had happened so fast; Bilbo vaguely remembered the first explosion and the shaking that came shortly after. It wasn't until the second explosion that the tunnel they'd walked into began crumbling around them. With no time to run back to where they had entered from, Bilbo had panicked and urged them further into the decommissioned sapphire tunnel.

“Kíli–” Bilbo called out again. “Kíli, where are you?”

There was another choked sob before the bundle that Bilbo assumed was Kíli pressed into his side, tightly clutching fistfuls of his jacket. Relief flooded him, thankful that Yavanna, Mahal perhaps, or whatever Vala were looking down upon them, saw fit not to extinguish their lives.

“I'm very glad that you are both here,” he murmured, tugging both dwarflings closer to him. “Though, I'm afraid your mother will be very cross with us, getting trapped in here like this.”

“Bilbo, I wanna go home.”

Bilbo could find no fault in that request, for he very much wished not to be here either. There was still the matter of actually getting out, however, and the fact remained that they were stranded. Aside from what he had hoarded in his pockets, they had no food, no water, and they were entombed in the pitch black of a long abandoned shaft, unfurling into a dangerous labyrinth. Bilbo had no working knowledge of mining, and as clever as Fíli and Kíli were, he doubted that they really knew what to do either.

“I know,” Bilbo tried to soothe.

The rush of adrenaline that kept him together through the ordeal began to wane; he could feel a dull thrum of pain shoot up his leg from his ankle, and oh, how his head ached – he was nearly overcome by the wave of nausea that followed the pain. Bilbo couldn't be entirely sure of the extent of his own injuries, but the new development was certainly not in their favor.

“Oh bother,” Bilbo moaned. “Neither of you are hurt, are you? You must tell me, this is important.” he asked urgently.

“My hands hurt,” Kíli whispered accompanied by, “My knees hurt,” from Fíli.

“We'll have to stay put for now,” Bilbo said weakly, his breath quickly turning into a pained hiss as he maneuvered his injured leg into a more comfortable position. “I'm in no condition to be walking just this moment, unfortunately.”

Bilbo's eyelids were rebelling and they began to droop against his will. The temptation to just shut them was impossible to ignore, especially when the dizziness blindsided him. He couldn't stop another pained groan as the dull throbbing in his head gradually became more fierce.

“Bilbo, are you okay?”

“No. No, I don't think so.”

Bilbo couldn't remember at what point he had fallen asleep, but it was an unpleasant thing being pulled from it. He still felt like he'd been hit over the head with one of those big war hammers he'd seen some Dwarves haul around on their backs.

“How long was I out?” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes.

“A little while. We're hungry Bilbo.”

Bilbo’s own stomach lurched as he dug around for the few muffins he had hidden away in his jacket pockets during their excursion to the kitchens.

“Here, eat these,” he said, handing two muffins each to the both of them. “This should hold you off for a while longer. I'm sure we'll be out of here before your bellies will want to eat you next,” Bilbo teased.

“But what will you eat then, won't your tummy want to eat you?” Kíli asked seriously, worry clearly evident in his tone.

“Oh no, I'll be fine, don't you worry about me. Just eat your muffins now,” he encouraged.

“Will you eat us then?” Kíli said with a mouth full of half chewed blueberry muffin.

“Good god.” Bilbo grimaced. “You don't actually think us Hobbits _eat_ other beings, do you?”

“Uncle Frerin said so,” Fíli supplied helpfully.

_When_ they made it out of this Valar forsaken hole he was going to have many words with their Uncle Frerin. “Well your Uncle is wrong. In all the time that I have been here, have you seen me attempt to eat a Dwarf?”

“No, but –” Fíli began to protest before he was interrupted.

“I doubt that there is an herb strong enough to make you stinky Dwarves taste any good,” Bilbo said, wrinkling his nose at the thought.

“We aren't that stinky!” Kíli whined.

Bilbo laughed, encircling his arms around the children again. “No, I suppose you aren't.”

They fell silent, only the chewing of baked goods could be heard for while.

Bilbo still felt exhausted; the little nap he had did nothing for his aches and pains – in fact, it probably made everything worse - and the darkness was starting to bug him.

The unease that once permeated their surroundings drifted away as Fíli began nattering to Kíli in that Khuzdul that Thorin always seemed keen on using against him. He couldn't understand a lick of what was being said between them, but the tension was no longer present in their voices – which Bilbo was thankful for, and he allowed his thoughts to return to those concerning the insufferable Prince.

His mother had said on many occasions that dangerous situations always have a way of putting your thoughts into perspective.

He now understood what that advice meant.

There was no way of knowing how truly dire their situation was – if they would ever be rescued, a despairing thought which he kept to himself. Were they meant to breathe their last breath down here, the Dwarves would always remember him as a fussy mythical creature, and might even consider his death an ill omen – which wouldn't surprise him in the least. He probably could have been a little more considerate to that ass of a Prince, who wasn't all bad when they weren't in line of sight of each other.

He really didn't want to die here. Fíli and Kíli both deserved to live full lives. Oh how he wished that he had told them no; he might have prevented all of this from happening in the first place if he had simply said no. Just as he started to panic, the Khuzdul stopped.

“What's that sound?” Kíli asked.

“What did you –”

“Shhh!” Fíli hushed Bilbo.

Bilbo wasn't certain of what Fíli heard, and for a moment he thought perhaps it had been a trick of the mind - but then there was a sound. It echoed from further in, a muffled striking sound – metal against stone, a series of hits in quick succession followed by a short break and another series of hits. The pattern continued on for a long time until it suddenly stopped.

“Fíli, Kíli, Baggins!” someone hollered; it sounded like Frerin but Bilbo couldn't be sure.

“Here!” Bilbo tried to yell, his voice failing him in his exhaustion. Fíli and Kíli, thank Yavanna, saved him the trouble of another attempt, their anxious reply resounding off the walls, eagerly reaching their salvation.

Hurried foot steps grew louder, the glow of lanterns brighter. As their rescue party came around the bend in the tunnel, Bilbo was never so happy to see the bane of his existence than he was right now.

Fíli and Kíli wasted no time in scrambling to their feet and almost bowling over their Uncle.

“Are you two alright?” Thorin asked as he knelt down to ascertain their health before hugging them tightly.

“Yes, but Bilbo isn't. He's hurt, Uncle,” Fíli said.

“I'll get him, you two get out of here before your mother kills the Foreman,” Frerin said as made to gather the Hobbit.

Thorin reached out to stop his brother. “I'll handle it, you take care of the boys,” he said, releasing them into Frerin's care.

Frerin spared him a questioning look; there would be twenty questions later but Thorin would deal with it when this whole mess was behind them.

“You look like a warg chewed you up and spat you out,” Thorin said wryly, his eyes looking the Hobbit over in the light of the lantern.

Bilbo smiled ruefully and he let his head tilt back to lean against the cool wall of the tunnel. “I've seen better days. If it's alright with you, your Majesty, I'd like to get out of this forsaken place.”

There was none of usual bite in Bilbo's words – it was an odd thing not hearing the condescending tone in the way the Hobbit addressed him as _your Majesty_.

“That can be arranged.” Without warning Thorin bent down at Bilbo's side, setting his lantern down so that he could heft Bilbo into his arms, expertly picking the lantern back up on the ascent.

“Is this really necessary?” Bilbo murmured into Thorin's tunic.

“Unless you'd prefer to be dragged out – I wouldn't mind doing that instead,” Thorin teased.

Bilbo huffed, not out of irritation but amusement. Thorin’s warmth seeped easily through his skin and into his bones, and he couldn’t help but relax knowing that his safety was assured. “I do not doubt that.”

“I take back the words I spoke earlier, it was unkind of me,” Thorin said suddenly in the lull of their conversation. He seemed to be doing many unexpected things today.

Bilbo's momentary surprise did not go unnoticed as he steadied himself using Thorin's broad Dwarven shoulders and lifted his head up to peer into the Prince's eyes – searching for any sign of deception. Finding none, Bilbo allowed himself to fully relax against Thorin's chest, looping his arms around the Dwarf's neck as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I take it that you don't apologize very often then, your Majesty,” Bilbo said, his warm breath puffing against the bare skin of Thorin's throat.

“I am a Prince, I do not find myself having to apologize to many people,” Thorin said matter-of-factly, trying to ignore the tingling of his skin.

Bilbo chuckled at the admission, offering an apology of his own. “I too am sorry for how I've spoken to you; I haven't been very courteous since my arrival, have I?”

Thorin hummed in acknowledgment.

“Thank you for not leaving us – for not leaving me down here,” Bilbo mumbled sleepily.

“You are a vexing creature, but perhaps I do not hate you as much as I did. I would not have left you down here.”


	3. Endings and Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, out of Bagginshield limbo and at the end of this little story. I struggled with how to write this chapter (re-wrote it twice) and there was ridiculous amounts of procrastination. However, I am happy with how this wrote itself out and I hope everyone else finds it pleasing too! 
> 
> I also wrote an alternative to this chapter which would have required the rating to be bumped up, look out for that too (when I get around to posting it).
> 
> Many thanks to [airebellah](http://airebellah.tumblr.com/) for her hard work (I did a lot of whining, brainstorming, screaming with caps). 
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://tea-blitz.tumblr.com/)

Bilbo sat in what was probably the most comfortable arm chair he had ever had the pleasure to curl up in. It was arranged with its twin facing opposite it, a beautifully carved marble table between them. The hearth was burning low, left forgotten in favor of a recently delivered letter from the Shire – his mother; it was a relief hearing from her, especially so soon after his brush with death.

As Bilbo finished reading his letter, Thorin strode into the guest room bearing a tray laden with all of Bilbo’s favorite snacks and, by the looks of it, his favorite tea as well. It had been three weeks to the day since the mishap in the mines. Thorin took it upon himself to – in not so many words – take care of Bilbo, which seemed to include afternoon tea now. Not that Bilbo was complaining of course; it was very nice of the Prince to be seeing to him like this, especially in light of their rough, but healing friendship.

“Good afternoon, Your Majesty,” Bilbo greeted as he folded up the letter from home, tucking it away in a book he had been reading.

Afternoon tea was certainly a lovely gesture, Bilbo couldn't help but think it sweet, though perhaps Thorin could look a little less perturbed.

“Good afternoon, Master Hobbit,” Thorin greeted in turn as he gently sat the tray on the table.

“None of that,” Bilbo said. “I'll not tell you again that my name is perfectly usable – if your brother can manage it, then so can you.”

Thorin snorted as he poured Bilbo a cup of tea. “My brother has never had proper manners – he's a terrible example, I assure you.”

As Bilbo watched Thorin complete the task, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion, not quite knowing how he should react. He wondered if Thorin knew the significance of such an action. Serving tea to an available Hobbit was something only done by potential suitors to make their interest known; available Hobbits would always serve their own tea. Bilbo had been ensconced for so long in the Shire, it was hard to remember those who lived outside its borders knew nothing about Hobbit customs.

Thorin cleared his throat, interrupting Bilbo's thoughts.

“Ah – did you say something?”

“I asked if Óin checked in on you recently,” Thorin repeated, pushing the plate of baked snacks towards the Hobbit.

“Oh! Yes, it's perfectly fine now, but I am to rub some nasty smelling balm on it for another week. A precaution, or so I am told. The sprain was quite nasty after all,” Bilbo answered as he picked up his teacup to take a sip.

“The letter brought good news, I hope?” Thorin asked, apparently content with Óin's assessment.

It certainly wasn't bad news, Bilbo mused, but it was a reminder that his time in Erebor was quickly coming to an end. Perhaps it should be considered bad news after all; his father was adamant that he returned well before the first snows blanketed the Shire.

Bilbo swallowed thickly and put on his best smile. “It certainly is good news. Mother says that my cousin, Drogo, has finally began courting his sweetheart! Let me tell you,” Bilbo chuckled. “It was not a pretty sight watching that poor lummox moon over her like the lovesick fool he was.”

Thorin did not miss the sad expression that passed over the Hobbit's face when asked about the note. If the weeks the Hobbit spent here had taught Thorin anything, it was that Bilbo was a rather private creature. He wouldn't pry...for now.

Instead Thorin snorted, reaching out for a blueberry tart.

“It seems that lovesick fools are a common occurrence in both our cultures,” he remarked, biting into the pastry.

“Is that so?” Bilbo smiled.

“Frerin was a lot like that when he was younger,” Thorin explained between bites of his pastry.

*

The hours turned into days, and the days into weeks. Bilbo had not spoken anymore about his letter, nor had Gandalf deigned to mention to Bilbo's royal host that he would be back before Durin's Day to retrieve the Hobbit, and return him to the Shire.

Every hour spent with his new Dwarven friends tore at Bilbo a little bit more.

Bilbo spent many nights laying awake, thinking, dreading as each day bled into the next, bringing him closer and closer to the day of his departure. His attitude was all the poorer for it, and there were many evenings when Bilbo had to steer conversations with Thorin away from his increasingly irritable mood.

The breaking point was the week leading up to Durin's Day, when Gandalf passed through the gates of Erebor just as the week-long festivities were kicking off.

The Gallery of Kings was filled to the brim with thousands of Dwarves from every walk of life. They were laughing and chattering, vibrating with barely restrained excitement for King Thráin to officially commence the festivities.

Bilbo was thankful to not be amongst the sea of Dwarves. He stood with the rest of the Royal family off to the side of the raised platform where Thráin would make his proclamation. The sheer amount of Dwarves was dizzying; one would never get this many Hobbits into a single place, not without large quantities of food and ale. Admittedly, Bilbo hoped that there was never a need for all the Hobbits of the Shire to be gathered together in one place, _ever_.

Simply imagining such a mess made Bilbo shudder.

“Alright?” Thorin mumbled from Bilbo's left.

“Perfectly fine. Just imaging the trouble it would cause if all the Hobbits of the Shire gathered like this. A very frightening thing, I assure you,” Bilbo said seriously.

Thorin snorted and turned his gaze to the platform as Thráin strode past.

Bilbo knew that he would not understand the speech; it would be entirely in Khuzdul, as this was a Dwarven custom, Balin, the King's Adviser, had explained to him the evening before. But Bilbo was prepared to listen to the speech anyway, had it not been for a tall, bearded man clad entirely in gray making his way up to the front of the hall.

Bilbo had been looking forward to this week long celebration – Hobbits love parties after all, as do Dwarves, apparently. But the appearance of the Wizard saw a resurgence of his departure anxiety. He watched in silent trepidation as a large guard allowed Gandalf to pass.

“Bilbo,” Gandalf greeted him quietly.

Bilbo stiffened, not bothering to turn his head upward to look the Wizard in the eye, instead offering him a curt nod. As Thorin pinned him with a scrutinizing side-long glance, Bilbo’s throat tightened and his heart began to race. He still had not told Thorin about his inevitable goodbye. His palms were becoming sweaty at his sides, nails biting into his skin as his fists unconsciously clenched.

Then there was a big hand covering his fist, coaxing it out of its tense pose, unrolling his tightly curled fingers. Thorin’s hand engulfed Bilbo's own, twining their fingers together. The tension that coiled in Bilbo’s chest relaxed, and he squeezed the Dwarf's hand in response to Thorin’s squeeze. The thumb that gently rubbed circles into the back of his hand soothed the anxious Hobbit further. For the time that Thorin held his hand, Bilbo wondered dumbly what it was that had him all worked up in the first place.

Their friendship had grown, and yes, they had their fair share of screaming matches. But Thorin was a good, honourable Dwarf; he had nothing to worry about.

“Ok?” Thorin whispered just as Thráin was rolling into the last part of his grand speech.

Bilbo did not answer but squeezed Thorin's hand again, and the cressing thumb never stopped.

The cacophony of sound that erupted in the gallery was overwhelming. Bilbo could not remember the King finishing, could not hear Gandalf trying to speak with him, and barely registered Thorin tugging him down a corridor. When he came back to himself, Bilbo was sitting in a chair next to the fire, a cup of tea cradled in his hands and Thorin kneeling in front of him, a thick hand resting on his knee.

“You are not okay, Bilbo. What's wrong?” Thorin asked. Worry carved itself on his face, a shred of seriousness tempering his concerned tone.

Bilbo wet his mouth with the contents of the cup, soothing his rebellious throat. “I-I meant to tell you earlier, much earlier, mind you. But it go away from me, and I thought, had hoped, Gandalf would have told you before any of this ever happened–”

Thorin silenced Bilbo with a finger upon his lips, gently squeezing the Hobbit's knee comfortingly. “Peace, Bilbo. I'll not be angry at whatever you have to say. We are friends, are we not?”

Bilbo let out a shaky breath and nodded, his shoulders slumped as he relaxed. Thorin removed his finger and Bilbo began his explanation again. “This is my last week in Erebor; I'll be leaving after Durin's Day to return to the Shire.”

Thorin remained silent for a long moment, considering the information Bilbo shared with him. He had never thought to ask how long their Hobbit guest would be with them. In fact, he never assumed the fussy little creature would have stayed with them for as long as he had. It felt like decades since Bilbo showed up on the outskirts of the Greenwood in the company of a batty, old Wizard.

Leave it to Gandalf to not mention the important things.

“Is that all you were worried about?” Thorin asked, smiling reassuringly. “While I did not expect this so soon, I did not expect you to stay forever; no one can fault you for going back to your home.”

He could never be angry at Bilbo for wishing to return to the Shire, but he had come to enjoy Bilbo's presence within the mountain. It had taken quite a lot for them to work out their differences, and he would truly miss Bilbo.

“I don't want to go back, not yet,” Bilbo sniffled.

“We will all be sad to see you go,” Thorin said truthfully. “However, you are not gone yet. There is still a week before you must depart, and I will see you enjoy your last days here with us before then. Frerin has already promised to show you all of the festival, and my father will have my beard if I ignore my duties to our guest.”

The words should have calmed Bilbo down, but they only seemed to feed the Hobbit's sorrow.

Bilbo's teacup fell to the ground – the contents of it spilling every where and soaking Thorin's trousers – as he lurched forward in his chair to collide with his companion. He grabbed fistfuls of the Dwarf's lavish tunic as he buried his face in Thorin's shoulder. The sobs were muffled, but Thorin could feel the wetness of tears seeping through the threads.

Thorin enveloped the Hobbit in his arms, bracing him in a cocoon of warmth. Having nothing else with which to sooth Bilbo's hurt, Thorin sung.

*

The week leading up to Durin's Day was not at all dull. The Royal family made sure their Hobbit guest was fully entertained; right now, Fíli and Kíli dragged him along to the arena for the combat tournaments. Bilbo was horrified that Dwarves enjoyed such barbaric shows of power; Hobbits did not partake in such uncivilized sport – not that he was willing to say so out loud in a _mountain_ of Dwarves. He found some enjoyment watching Dís decimate and ultimately destroy her competition.

Frerin brought him along for a pub crawl; the real partying would not happen until the end of the week, yet the taverns were already filled with ale sodden Dwarves. _Good luck telling them that it isn't Durin's Day yet_ , Frerin had said to him after he was nearly trampled by an off-duty guard carrying six tankards filled to the brim with ale. He was nearly soaked to the bone by the same Dwarf not five minutes later, carrying even more alcohol!

Dís, after proving her strength as reigning champion of the Proving, invited him to several Dwarven performances. Ballads were sung and old stories were retold; as they were all in Khuzdul, the Princess happily translated for the Hobbit. Bilbo was mystified that Dwarves had such a vibrant culture; he had been here since the start of summer, yet all that he had seen since his arrival could never compare to what he had seen this week – and it was not even over!

Bilbo allowed Thorin to lead him to the great forges, where a vast majority of the metal crafting in Erebor happened. The room was bright, and while the heat from the forges was stifling, it remained a beautiful sight to behold. Thorin walked him through the basics of how the operation worked, how the ores were brought in by carts using a pulley system connecting the mines and forge, all powered by a huge water wheel. The logistics of it were nearly lost on Bilbo, but he could appreciate the way that Dwarves created such ingenious contraptions.

Thorin's little tour did not stop at the forges, and Bilbo did not bother asking where they were going. Countless turns, many descending flights of stone stairs, and one rough pathway later, Thorin lead him through a roughly hewn opening. Bilbo expected to remain blind in the dark – Thorin had to hold his hand on the way so he would not mistakenly veer off – but the vision with which he was met was simply breathtaking.

The floor, walls, and ceiling were engulfed in vibrant colors. Blues and greens and a smattering of pinks lit up the darkness of the cavern. It was the most enchanting thing he had ever witnessed.

He was a Hobbit, and Hobbits loved the sun and the earth and everything green. They thrived under an open sky, but nevertheless, Bilbo held a great appreciation for the mountain dwellers and cave fungi. To him, this phenomena equaled in beauty to the flowers that bloomed in the spring.

He would remember all of this for years to come, and tell stories of his adventure to everyone back home.

As the week wound down, the previous King, Thrór, son of Dáin, returned from his visit to the other Dwarven kingdoms throughout Middle-Earth, the Iron Hills being the last on his itinerary.

It was a joyous reunion, and Bilbo had the honor of being introduced to such a well-known king. The old Dwarf was very intimidating at first, as he had never seen a Hobbit before in his life, only hearing about the elusive race from a book when he was a dwarfling. Thrór was a very apt listener, remaining silent, only nodding to keep Bilbo talking about Hobbits. Bilbo happily obliged, if only to dispel the many inaccuracies about his race.

It seemed as though he made a grand impression on old King Thrór, for on Durin's Day, his son and the current King of Erebor named Bilbo _bâhu khazâd_ , friend of Dwarves – a title not lightly bestowed.

The celebration was everything that it was made out to be, and Bilbo would never forget his time spent here in Erebor with his new friends, his second family.

*

Bilbo woke the next morning just after second breakfast to knocking at his door. There was a modicum of irritation vibrating through Bilbo; Hobbits could certainly hold their ale, but they were definitely not immune to its after-effects. He had a troll of headache, and the Wizard's cheerfulness made him even more nauseous.

“Good morning, Bilbo!”

Bilbo groused his own good morning, refusing to open his door any wider in order to prevent the nuisance from invading and destroying his last morning in Erebor.

Gandalf frowned. “I've arranged a special escort back to the Shire that I think you'll enjoy. We'll be leaving soon. That ought to give you enough time to finish packing and attend to any outstanding needs.”

Bilbo merely glared at the Wizard, not at all apologetic to shut the door in his face. The fool deserved it, after all.

He had packed his things the day before prior to the party, knowing full well he would be in no shape to do so after. He was in no mood to fill his belly; nausea from the hangover aside, he couldn't stomach anything heavier than a cup of cold tea. If Lobelia could see him right now...

The departure time crept up on him while he committed his rooms to memory, writing down memorable passages from the texts the librarian had lent him, lest he forget everything as he took his first steps out of the mountain.

Fíli and Kíli insisted that they carry his things for him as Frerin – Bilbo was a little disappointed that it wasn't Thorin escorting him – led him away from the main gate, taking a different exit. Bilbo wondered what sort of transportation Gandalf arranged that had them _ascending_ the mountain. He was not left to wonder very long as they exited, and Bilbo found himself standing upon the cliff looking down into the valley between Erebor and Dale. The view was absolutely breathtaking; he would have been perfectly fine to stand there for a couple of hours to take in every detail.

Movement at the corner of his eye spurred Bilbo to turn and seek out Gandalf. But he was not met by the irksome Wizard; the figure that was perched before him was a giant bird, an eagle – larger than anything he'd ever seen! His instincts bade him to run and hide; Hobbit's were more likely to be snatched up by predators than to stand against them in a fight. The Dwarves gathered seemed to have similar feelings on the matter, but Gandalf stood at the bird's side, leaning against his staff nonchalantly.

“Fear not, Bilbo! Landroval has agreed to escort us back to the Shire,” the Wizard said.

Bilbo remained quiet, taking a couple tentative steps towards the eagle. The eagle seemed to not mind him nor the rest of the gathering. In fact he seemed very curious, tilting his head to get a better view of him. With each step Bilbo grew a little more confident; perhaps he could trust the Wizard's word at face value for once.

Before he could get any closer, Landroval trilled and Gandalf nodded in agreement. “He says that you should say good-bye to your friends before they faint.”

Bilbo snorted and turned towards the Dwarves standing a safe distance away. There stood Thorin along with the rest of the Royal Family – Fíli, Kíli, Dís, Frerin, Thráin, and Thrór – as well as Balin and Dwalin.

His chest tightened and he fought valiantly to keep the tears at bay; he had done enough crying on Thorin's shoulder. He allowed himself to be swept up into crushing hugs, and Dís kissed every inch of his face like she did her sons on a daily basis. Thrór and Thráin knocked his head none too gently in the Dwarven custom, nearly scrambling his brain. Frerin opted for a more traditional Hobbit good-bye, grasping the Hobbit's hand firmly in his own and giving it a few strong shakes. Fíli and Kíli made him promise to return and tell them more stories, and bring them Hobbit souvenirs.

Thorin looked like his same old self, that moody expression permanently carved into his features, a testament to the stubbornness of Dwarves.

“I would give a gift, something to remember m– us by,” Thorin said as he took hold of Bilbo's hand, cupping it with his own big one. The Dwarf placed something warm in his palm and closed his fingers over it.

Bilbo opened his hand to get a better look at the little thing as Thorin spoke again. “It's a bead. You are named bâhu khazâd and are allowed to share in this tradition,” he said seriously. “I made this. Any Dwarf you meet will know that you are Bilbo Baggins, friend of Erebor.”

Bilbo choked back a sob; Thorin really was a sap. The bead was silver, with carved angular runes and set with a little sapphire. He was in complete awe of the craftsmanship. Bilbo could not help but throw himself at Thorin, wrapping his arms around as much as the Dwarf’s bulk as he could manage.

“I love it,” Bilbo said hoarsely. It was all he could say really, without turning into the sobbing wreck he was a week ago.

The embrace and the sincerity of Bilbo's acceptance of the bead was enough for Thorin. He would be teased for offering such a forward gift, but he felt that the Hobbit had earned it. It was rather brazen Balin had warned him, considering the meanings behind some of the things he carved upon that bead.

Landroval trilled again, indicating that it was time for them to depart.

“Come back to us Bilbo Baggins, Hobbit of the Shire,” Thorin said quietly as he boosted Bilbo up onto the eagle's back.

**Epilogue**

The sunrise peeked through the little breaks in between the trees of the forest. It was rather chilly for an early summer morning, not that Bilbo would complain. The heat had been miserable since setting out mid-spring.

He could feel the anticipation coiling up inside him as they got closer and closer to the edge of the forest. Bilbo wondered how many Dwarves would be meeting him, and if the ones he expected to be there were instead having a lay in, lazy and troublesome as they were.

Gandalf remained silent at his side, and the slow thumps of the pony's hooves against the ground kept him calm. He was distracted enough to miss the figures waiting from them on the edge of the Greenwood.

“You are late, Wizard!” a familiar voice sounded, trepidation saturating the deep, rumbling tone.

“A Wizard is never late, Thorin Oakenshield. He arrives precisely when he means to,” Gandalf grumbled.

A feeling of déjà vu hit Bilbo square in the chest as Thorin ogled him with an air of disbelief and disdain.

“I see you're still fooling around with forest magic, Gandalf,” Thorin growled, never taking his eyes off the messy braid twisted in Bilbo's hair, tied off at the end with his gifted silver bead. Behind him Frerin sighed, clearly exasperated.

“Still a little slow, I see,” Bilbo retorted haughtily. “Your beard is looking thinner, have you been eating well?”

Thorin narrowed his eyes, a vicious smirk dancing at the corner of his lips. “I'm afraid our food stores haven't quite recovered from your last visit.”

“Your braids are looking a little neater, have you been practicing?” Bilbo huffed.

“Your braid is looking a little misshapen, perhaps you could use some more practice yourself.” With each insult, Thorin shuffled a little closer to the Hobbit.

There were several more exasperated grumbles from Gandalf, as well as the rest of the Dwarven contingent.

Thorin and Bilbo took the hint, the Dwarf Prince stuck his hand out and offered it to Bilbo. “I suppose we should call a truce before the Kingdom rebels.”

Bilbo smirked and accepted the hand, using it to pull himself into Thorin's chest and embracing him once more – a sentiment that Thorin gladly returned.

“How long will you be staying with us this time, Bilbo Baggins?” he whispered into golden curls.

“Until you run out of food, I'd imagine,” Bilbo giggled. “Or until I decide to leave a year from now. Whichever should come first.”

Thorin could live with that.


End file.
